Hell Hath No Fury
by PythonFan
Summary: Roger and Maureen's first meeting since his return from rehab and her breakup with Mark. PreRENT.


"Is he here?"

"Jesus!" Roger, startled from his music by the sudden presence in what he thought was an empty apartment, looked up in alarm at the figure leaning in his bedroom doorway. "What the fuck is this?"

"What?" Maureen's eyes opened a little wider, the picture of innocence.

"You…with the sneaking."

"I never used to knock. Why should I start now?" She cracked her gum.

Roger considered her a moment before setting his guitar on the bed in front of him. Swinging his feet to the floor, he hoisted himself up from the worn blankets. "You _used _to be his girlfriend." he countered, squeezing past her into the main expanse of the loft. "Not to mention that I haven't seen you for six months. As a matter of fact, don't I deserve a _real _greeting?"

"Go to hell."

"No, no, that won't work at all." Now in the kitchen, he poured himself a mug of tepid coffee before mimicking in a high-pitched falsetto, "Gee, I missed you, Roger. Hope you're feeling better after, you know, rehab hell."

"Shut up and tell me where he went."

Roger took a long sip from the ceramic mug before burying himself in an old newspaper that lay open on the table. "I dunno."

Maureen sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. "Bullshit."

"Find him yourself. I'm not his mother. I don't demand to know his whereabouts every moment of the day."

"C'mon, Roger, you're his best friend. There's only like five places he goes, anyway."

"That should make your job easier." he replied amiably. Maureen, pouting, stomped her foot in disgust. "I need to talk to him. I'm not going to hurt him or anything."

"No, you pretty well took care of that when you left him for a woman." Roger deadpanned, eyes never leaving the paper, chin clenching with the attempt to suppress a wry grin.

"Oh, don't _you _get on my case, too—"

Finally giving up any pretense of actually reading, Roger dropped the paper, haphazardly folded, and briefly both hands in a request for silence.

"Listen, I don't know where he is, but even if I did, I wouldn't tell you for the last bag of smack on earth." When she tried to interject, he shot out a hand and plowed on. "I mean, _Jesus_, Maureen, you've done enough to the poor guy. The damage is done, now it's _over_. He's a big boy; he'll get over it. But 'til then, he sure as hell doesn't need you looming in the background like some goddamn ghoul." An uncomfortable silence fell between the pair as the words echoed through the empty loft.

After a moment, the musician's strained expression softened. "What I mean is…just…let him be." He stared at her for a moment before attempting a weak smile.

Maureen studied him intently; several more seconds lapsed before she was able to return it. She licked her lips, crossed her arms. "Yeah…okay."

Roger turned his attention back to the table, staring blankly. He nodded once affirmation, a small smile still playing on his face.

"Roger?" Her face was small, apprehensive…afraid. Almost unfamiliar.

"Yeah?" he answered, expression unchanged.

"You…" she swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. Maureen, the big-mouth, the drama queen, was at a loss for words. Last time she'd seen him, that summer, he'd been a heroin addict. A sick junkie with a dead girlfriend. "You're okay?"

He released a long, slow breath, considering his words carefully. Turning to her once more, his eyes were a little less cloudy than she remembered, his focus a little more precise.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

She nodded, an awkward little smile crossing her face. The relief she felt, the muscles relaxing in her stomach, took her by surprise.

"Good."

They considered each other; a little less defensive, a tad more comfortable.

"Um…do you mind if I get something to eat?" she gestured toward the refrigerator, a sheepish smile on her face. "I'm starving, and…on my way to Joanne's, actually." She wrinkled her nose a bit. "She never has anything."

Roger cast a long glance at the old fridge, before turning back to her with a half-smile and a small shrug. "You're welcome to whatever's in there." he answered as he resumed scanning the paper.

Crossing the room, Maureen hauled open the bulky door. "Looks like slim pickings." she called out. "Collins hasn't been here for a while, I take it."

"And he won't be back 'til Christmas."

Maureen rolled her eyes again, this time in mild amusement. She immediately grabbed the lone bottle of diet Snapple. Still in search of food, she spotted a lone carton toward the back. She retrieved it; first squinting, then shaking, then sniffing.

"Rog?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this," she sniffed again, "Is this…cottage cheese?"

Hearing him turn around, she held up the carton for his inspection, shaking it lightly.

"Uh. Yeah. It is."

"Mmkay. I'm stealing it."

"Fine."

Hands full, she straightened, kicking the refrigerator door behind her. "Well, I'm off." she said, smiling brightly.

"'kay." Roger got up, accompanying her to the door. Pulling it open for her, he smiled widely, eyes sparkling. It was the closest thing to a real smile Maureen had seen from him in a long time. "We'll see you around. Eventually."

She nodded. "Yeah. Eventually. I'll see ya." With that, she made her way across the landing and started down the long stairway, her Snapple and cottage cheese in hand.

Maureen lounged on Joanne's neat sofa in her neat apartment. After pilfering a couple apples from the compulsively neat refrigerator, she was dipping the slices into the carton in a haphazard manner that she was sure was driving Joanne insane.

Sure enough, Joanne eyed her suspiciously from the floor, where she was surrounded by piles of legal briefs and files. She wouldn't say anything, Maureen knew, but the expression on the other woman's face told the whole story.

"What are you eating?" was Joanne's only question, princess of passive-aggressive behavior that she was.

"Cottage cheese." Maureen answered as she plunged another apple slice into the carton

She could feel Joanne's eyes on her. "But…that's a milk container."

"Yeah." she popped the slice into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, directing a radiant smile in the direction of her harried, adorable lawyer.

All concern over damage to her couch seemed to be gone from the face of said harried, adorable lawyer, however. Instead, worry was replaced by a look of mild revulsion. "Baby…cottage cheese doesn't come in a milk container."

Maureen stopped to consider this. She stared at the carton, noticing its worn, aged edging for the first time. As the awful truth sank in, she shifted the waxy white cardboard in search of an expiration date.

As her dark eyes locked onto the date scanned onto the edge of the container, her words were simple, sweet, and unmistakably livid. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Who?"

"Roger. Fucking. Davis."


End file.
